


Mellon

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Aragorn sees a myth.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	Mellon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The creatures of the forest wisely flee from the hushed roar of their hooves, though very few are targets—they come for wolves, mainly, perhaps a fox or stag, nothing smaller, and it pains Aragorn to hunt even that. His camp must eat, he reminds himself, and though he hates to be the one to loose an arrow, someone must. It’s his lot. Boromir leads their pack, weaving along the makeshift path they follow every time they come here. Éomer comes swiftly behind, Aragorn bringing up the rear. He keeps his eyes peeled for a different sort, and then he sees it—the barest hint of white through a sea of browns and greens. He turns the reins, urging Brego to the right. They slip away together, two quiet for the other two to notice. Aragorn is perhaps the most skilled among them—he often feels like he sees an entirely different world in this forest than the other Men. Brego’s attuned to it, and he goes where Aragorn guides him—off after the white flicker always just out of reach. 

It weaves along, across a shallow stream, over fallen branches, through thick clusters of gnarled routes and finally to a clearing. Aragorn dismounts in one smooth motion, more than ready to corner his prize. The unicorn is gone, and in its place a gorgeous man wades forward, elegant ears pointed and long white-gold hair drifting in the breeze. He comes to Aragorn in robes as clear as the coat of his other form, his eyes a piercing blue-grey like a spotless sky. His soft lips lift up at the edges, and he murmurs in the language of the forest, “It is good to see you again, Aragorn.”

Aragorn has no idea when or how he learned the words. The beast-turned-man walks right into his arms, tilting in to brush a chaste kiss across his cheek. Then it pulls away again, tall and slender, infinitely beautiful. Somehow, Aragorn answers in the same tongue: “You must be more careful not to be seen by hunters, Legolas.”

He’s met with twinkling laughter. “Your arrows could not catch me.” A delicate hand lifts to trace the stubble along his chin. Legolas always seems amused by that, like he does the few strands of grey that have cropped up in Aragorn’s dark locks, and the new scars that come to paint Aragorn’s very different body. Legolas is always unblemished and young, though Aragorn’s quite sure he’s as old as the forest itself. When he locks eyes with Aragorn, Aragorn sees a time long past, hears a song long faded, but is rejuvenated and timeless. Legolas murmurs, “Can you stay with me this time?”

Aragorn lifts one hand to cover Legolas’. He’d like to, more than anything. But Boromir’s voice calls through the trees, _“Aragorn!”_

That answers the question well enough. Legolas’ hand slowly withdraws, though his smile remains. He’s never faulted Aragorn for the company he keeps. Either Legolas is different from the others, or there simply are no others—Aragorn has never been blessed with the sight of another unicorn. Just the one is enough.

He captures Legolas’ palm and turns it, lifting it to kiss the back. He promises, “We will camp by the east river tonight—I will come to you if I can.”

“I will be there.”

Aragorn nods. He’d linger—badly wants to—but he knows well how precious these things are, how _sacred_ , and it’s not his right to draw other Men to see it. He steps away first, withdrawing to Brego. As soon as he’s mounted, he looks back, and a pure white horse is standing there, horn glistening in the pale sunlight through the trees. 

Aragorn rides off again, looking forward to the night.


End file.
